GM Chapter 1

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On Monday, Fang Guo receives a letter from his high school class president, containing an invitation to a funeral.

The deceased is Wei Wei.

Fang Guo spends a few minutes trying to recall who Wei Wei is.

Wei Wei was a classmate of Fang Guo for all three years of high school and was also the class beauty.

Naturally, one would expect Fang Guo to have vivid memories of her, but in fact, his memories of Wei Wei are quite faint.

He remembers her as a very pretty and quiet girl with average grades, someone with little presence. She seemed almost like a paper doll, the only standout being her beauty, but even that beauty seemed to be shrouded in some kind of shadow, unclear.

Soon after seeing the letter, Fang Guo receives a call from the class president: "Fang Guo?"

Fang Guo responds: "Class president, long time no see."

The class president laughs and says, "Did you see the letter I sent?"

Fang Guo looks down at the letter in his hand, which is as white as snow.

The handwriting on it is vigorous and elegant, rivaling the work of any calligraphy master.

"Yes, I saw it." Fang Guo hesitates for a moment, then asks, "Is this for real?"

The class president falls silent for a while before answering in a heavy tone: "Who would joke about something like this?"

True.

Fang Guo sighs.

No matter how familiar they were, they had been classmates for three years. Now, at the age of 25, Wei Wei had passed away young.

What a tragedy. A beautiful flower that could never bloom again.

Fang Guo sighs again: "Life is unpredictable." After a pause, he adds in confusion, "I remember we hadn’t been in touch with Wei Wei for five or six years. Why contact us now for a funeral?"

Wei Wei had transferred from a remote area to their school in the countryside. After high school, they lost contact completely. Fang Guo had graduated from university and been working for a year. Now, suddenly, he was contacted for a funeral.

The address was in a distant mountain village, one he had never heard of, which surprised him.

The class president replies, "I don’t know either." After a pause, she says, "Maybe back then, Wei Wei wasn’t close to us because she was shy. In reality, she really liked us."

Fang Guo agrees, "Maybe."

The class president then asks, "When will you leave?"

Fang Guo answers, "In three days. I need to wait for my vacation approval."

"Alright. See you then."

"See you."

The funeral is in a remote location, one Fang Guo has never heard of.

The journey involves a train, bus, and a minibus. He sets off early in the morning and, by the time he is on the minibus, it's already dusk.

Fang Guo, feeling exhausted, holds his luggage. On the minibus are six people, including the driver.

Three of the passengers—two men and one woman—have dark skin, appearing to be farmers. One man wears all black, with a hood covering his head, leaving him in shadow and making it difficult to see his face.

They met these three people in the town earlier, and this was the only minibus going to the destination. The bus is old, with a heavy smell of engine oil inside.

Fang Guo endures his nausea as he gets on the bus, which bumps along the road. His stomach is very uncomfortable.

He doesn’t suffer from motion sickness, but after a whole day of changing vehicles, his body is protesting.

Fang Guo can’t help but ask the driver, "How much longer until we get there?"

The driver responds, "Not much longer."

Fang Guo doesn’t like this vague answer and asks again, "Can you be more specific?"

The driver responds impatiently, "It's close. I’ve been driving this route for over ten years. I know it’s close. Stop asking."

Clearly, the driver is short-tempered.

Fang Guo can’t say anything else. He feels like he’s about to throw up.

One of the women opposite looks up and seems to notice his discomfort. She says, "About fifteen minutes, not far."

She uses an old-fashioned way of telling time, and fifteen minutes feels like an eternity to Fang Guo.

He closes his eyes and tries to rest, but just before he falls asleep, a strange fragrance fills his nose—ink, with a chilling coldness to it, like flowers pulled from a fridge on a hot day.

It soothes his upset stomach.

Fang Guo glances over and notices an arm next to him. It's very pale, with a sickly hue.

He stares for a moment before realizing it belongs to the man sitting beside him.

The man is dressed all in black, and only his arm, white as bone, stands out in the darkness.

The fragrance of ink is emanating from him.

Fang Guo quietly thanks the man, pulling away slightly.

The man doesn’t respond and retracts his hand.

The minibus continues its bumpy journey, while Fang Guo can hear complaints from the other passengers and the driver’s lighthearted chuckles.

But at this moment, everything feels distant, as if the noises come from another world.

All his attention is on the man beside him.

The man has a tall, slender build.

Fang Guo thinks to himself. Then, he realizes that the grip around his waist has tightened a bit, though not painfully.

"Thank you," Fang Guo whispers again, then gently pushes against the man’s chest. He expects it to be difficult to move him, but the man quickly and effortlessly loosens his grip.

Fang Guo, now sure that the man was only trying to be helpful, feels grateful.

He tries to speak, but just opening his mouth makes him feel nauseous.

So, he decides to wait until they arrive in the village to talk. After all, it’s a small village, and the driver had said they would be staying there overnight.

Fang Guo leans back and closes his eyes, trying to rest.

However, what he doesn’t notice is that as soon as his eyes close, the noisy minibus suddenly becomes quiet.

The man beside him tilts his head slightly, and from beneath the hood, a pair of eyes are staring fixedly at Fang Guo.

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